Put yourself in the comfortable shoes of a Crystal Palace supporter at Wembley
on Monday. Your team has just won the Championship play-off final, and
promotion.

Those squad members not uncontrollably weeping with relief are climbing the Wembley steps. Mile Jedinak and Paddy McCarthy lift the trophy. It is a moment of unadulterated triumph.

It lasts for a fraction of a second before Florence Welch begins bellowing from a monstrously loud public address system. “Say my naaaaay-haaaay-haaaimmm!” caterwauls the machine-less singer over the enforced euphoria of Calvin Harris’ synthesiser presets. Who invited them?

The roar of the Palace fans is overpowered. They are instantly divorced from their own moment. They become observers, not participants. They are implicitly forced to enjoy themselves within the pre-ordained parameters defined by Npower and Wembley National Stadium Limited.

Bellowin’ Florence is the latest in a sad line of musicians to encroach on the once-sacred supporters’ celebration. Bayern Munich lifted the Champions League trophy on Saturday to the Champions League theme, which contemporary research suggests was written, produced and performed by the almighty Gazprom.

AC Milan’s 2007 victory in the same competition was greeted by Feeder’s Feeling A Moment, an insultingly-named and despicably wimpy slice of supposedly evocative guitar-pap. Wigan hoisted the FA Cup aloft to a horrendous dance remix of the Great Escape theme. It should not need stating that Wigan winning their first FA Cup is a moment which does not require embellishment.

Admittedly the uninvited intrusions of Florence, Calvin and nearly-forgotten Welsh power trios do not entirely ruin these moments of delight. But believe it or not, if the overworked PA system was allowed to rest, there is a very good chance that several thousand extremely happy fans could create an atmosphere by themselves.

So why are football’s party-planners so reliant on very loud music, the “bangers” beloved by hurried half-time action montages, depressing corporate awards ceremonies and nightspots that offer outstanding value for bulk purchases of Jägermeister?

They are the soundtrack to the least adventurous but increasingly prevalent swathes of our entertainment omniculture, which must reach for a familiar playlist lest it seem unclear that this is the moment at which you have a good time. If you’re a Normal Person, you understand that when Florence sings “Say my naaaaay-haaaay-haaaimmm!” it is time to party. Never mind if you don’t really understand what the apparently-now-a-verb “party” means, exactly.

The use of these songs at celebratory moments in football speaks of sponsors’ desire to invade and own the peak of footballing joy. Gazprom, Heineken and Sony want you to hear the tune which has accompanied their logos since August.

The FA Cup with Budweiser has a rich two-year tradition to celebrate, and vibrant brand values which must be upheld. Npower would probably rather be associated with rote David Guetta keyboards than Palace fans singing a rude song about the time Alan Mullery went to visit the Pope. The soundtrack places football safely within the entertainment industry, as another product to be consumed.

What’s confusing is why those in charge of marketing football are overlooking its most attractive assets. Companies, brands, and events would pay millions to flashmob organisers and hashtag manipulators to generate the sort of atmosphere and camaraderie that envelops a major football match. The insecure addition of irrelevant music to an event that comes packaged with its own unique noises betrays a scandalous lack of understanding of what makes football fantastic.

Let’s rise up against deafening music after and immediately before football matches. Let’s stamp out this nasty, nefarious scourge on our game. The single-issue pressure group starts here. Who knows, maybe once our initial aim has been accomplished we can march on to eliminate post-goal music too?